Just Say No
by Trekkiehood
Summary: What if Hamilton denied the advances of Ms Maria Reynalds. What if he turned to something different. Something a bit more dangerous. What if Alexander Hamilton self-harmed. And what if Washington found out.


**Here's another Hamilton one-shot! This one is a bit dark. It deals with self-harm and suicide, so don't read if that kind of stuff triggers you. I know that this takes place in the late 1700s, but I don't see why it couldn't have been just as much a problem then as it was now. **

**I hope my characterization is good, but I am fairly new to this fandom. So please point out any inaccuracies, but kindly :)**

**Anyway, this takes place about the time of "Say No to This" but there is no actual affair in this story. Please read and enjoy!**

**~TH~**

He was so tired. So very, very tired. Contrary to popular belief, Alexander wanted to stop. He wanted to go visit his family upstate. He couldn't. He had obligations. He had to get this debt plan through.

Angelica was in from London and he couldn't be with her. Eliza and the children were so far away. He could easily... No! He would lose his job. His family needed this. He needed this.

It was an accident the first time it happened.

Alexander rubbed his eyes, heading to the kitchen after almost two days crammed in his office making revisions. He intended to cut an apple in half, not having the appetite for a full one. The knife slipped, cutting across his open palm.

He hissed, dropping both the knife and the apple before clutching his injured hand. As his mind seemed to process what had happened, he came to a realization. It felt good. The stinging in his hand allowed him to breathe a sigh of relief. The tension in his shoulders lessened slightly as he began to relax.

Taking a deep breath, he grabbed a rag and pressed it against the wound, eliciting a small groan of pain.

The cut wasn't that deep, he wouldn't need stitches. This cut was large, but if he made a cut with his shaving razor...

No. He wouldn't think like that.

Feeling oddly Refreshed, he went back to his office to finish his revisions.

~H~

The next time was intentional. His nerves were on end. He missed his wife and children more than he ever had in his life. A letter from Angelica had just arrived, stating that he would regret not making the trip with them. He didn't need her to tell him, he already knew.

Alexander hadn't slept in a solid week. Too much was going on. His brain worked too fast to keep up with.

That's when a knock came at the door. A beautiful young lady, stood there, her eyes slightly puffy from crying. She starts to speak almost as soon as the door opened.

"Mr Hamilton, my name is Maria Reynolds. I know you are a man of honour. I'm so sorry to bother you at home, but I don't know where to go, and I came here all alone. My husband is doing me wrong. He's beating me, cheating me, mistreating me. Suddenly he's up and gone. I don't have the means to go on."

Sighing, he goes back into the house a retrieve some money he had saved and hands it to her. She smiles.

"You're too kind, sir. It's awfully late and not exactly safe for women to be out alone. Would you mind walking me home?"

He nods, uneasily. In truth, he could barely stand up straight.

When Alexander and Maria reached her home, Hamilton gave a brief nod, then started to leave.

Someone grabbed his sleeve from behind. He spun around so that he was face to face with Maria.

"Stay." She whispered in his ear. "No one will know."

He tore his sleeve from her grip. "I'm sorry, I must be going." He did.

When he reached his house, his heart was pounding. It was right for him to walk away. There was Eliza to think about and his precious children. He could never do that to them!

Then why did he feel as though his heart was going to explode? Why did his brain feel even more muddled than before?

His eyes flittered to the kitchen and then to the knife sitting on the counter.

He moved towards it, then giving a hard shake of his head, went to his bedroom.

Alexander intended to sleep. He intended to crawl into bed and let the pain be washed away through sleep. But he had left his razor out. It was sitting on his dresser where he had failed to put it away.

He picked it up, slowly fingering it. Then, making a conscious choice, rolled up the sleeve on his left arm. A shallow slit was made on his exposed wrist.

It stung and bled and it was absolutely wonderful. The cobwebs in his mind began to subside. The sharp pain of longing for his family slipped into only a dull ache.

For the first time in a month, he slept through the whole night.

~H~

It became a habit. Every time be needed a release, he would turn to the small razor. It started off less than once a week. It got to a point where he was visiting his razor at least once a day.

Alexander always waited until he was home alone and no one ever knew.

Until a particularly rough Cabinet Meeting.

Jefferson and Madison were being particularly thick-headed. Insults were traded. Nothing that Hamilton hadn't heard before, but his sleep-deprived mind was working overtime trying to keep up. All he could think about was the razor in his bedroom. He needed it. He longed for it.

As the meeting lagged on, Alexander found himself becoming even more irritable than usual. He could barely breathe the desire was so strong.

When Washington finally dismissed everyone, Hamilton nearly shot out of his chair.

"Alexander," the President's voice pulled him back into the room. "Are you feeling okay, son?"

"I'm fine." He answered shortly, glancing out into the hallway.

"You seem stressed. Is something wrong?" The concern in his voice caused Alexander to sigh.

"I'm fine, sir. I just have some... unfinished work I am eager to return too." It wasn't a complete lie. He did need to get back to work. There was just... Something he had to do first.

Washington nodded slowly. "Don't forget that you're not invincible. Sometimes it's a good idea to take a break."

"Of course, sir." He gave a slight bow before heading to his office. He didn't have time to take a break, but he did have something that could tide him over until then.

He entered his office, locking the door behind him. He had left his razor at home. He'd never had need for it at work. Most of his "spells" came late at night when the longing for his family was too strong to simply ignore. He never expected one in the middle of the day. But, he did have a knife. A small one he kept in his desk.

Alexander's hands were beginning to shake with adrenaline, longing for what was to come.

He took the knife in his right hand before remembering he had to roll up his sleeve. With a muffled growl of frustration, he put the knife on the desk and began the task.

His left wrist was covered in lines. The healed ones were nothing more than thin white marks. The more recent ones were a bit larger and still had the pinkish quality of broken skin. It didn't matter. He needed this.

With shaking fingers, Alexander picked up the knife and brought it down on his wrist. The blade caught, going too deep. Instead of the small stream of blood that usually accompanied the mark, the dark red substance started to flow out of the wound.

Hamilton felt only A moment of relief before the panic came over him. He couldn't stop the bleeding.

He grabbed his overcoat that was laying on his chair and used the sleeve to try and stem the bleeding. It did almost nothing.

He was beginning to feel dizzy, his thoughts were unclear. He absentmindedly noted that he would need a new coat.

Just as he felt the pull of unconsciousness, a knock came at the door. He was tempted to ignore the sound. It had been so long since he had slept. Maybe... If he just... Closed his eyes for a minute.

The pounding came again, this time accompanied by a voice. "Alexander, I need to speak with you."

_Washington_.

The name forced its way through the secretary's confused mind.

He stumbled to his feet, nearly falling before he made it to the door. He had abanded his coat, allowing for the blood to drip freely onto the floor. He clumsily turned the key that he had thankfully left in the lock. The door swung inward, nearly knocking Hamilton to the ground.

The President looked as though he was about to make a statement when he saw the blood. "Alexander!"

The secretary only swayed on his feet.

Washington grabbed the stumbling young man by the arm, shutting the door, then helping him to the desk.

"What happened?" He gasped, taking the bloodied wrist in his hands. It was still pouring out blood. "I need to get a doctor-!"

"No," Alexander used his free hand to grab onto the material of the President's shirt. "No one can know."

"You'll bleed out!" He insisted, "We need a doctor to-"

"No!" Hamilton shouted, "You know what will, what will," his breathing was becoming short. "What will happen." He released the fabric in his right hand and motioned towards the knife.

Washington's eyes widened as he realized, "You did it on purpose."

"Didn't- I didn't mean to, to cut, to cut so deep. Knife slipped." He murmured, his eyes sliding closed. Then his who body jerked, eyes snapping open and his hand reclaiming the President's shirt. "No one can know! This is just what they've been waiting for! A, a chance to, to get rid of me. Won't- won't let them do it!"

"Okay Alexander, okay," Washington said in a placating tone, untangling the tightly clasped hand. "I won't get anyone, but you have to let me help you, okay?"

The bleeding man gave half a nod, his eyes sliding closed again.

"Not so fast," the President caught his head as it began to fall into a resting place. "you have to stay awake. That's the deal, alright? I won't get anyone unless you become unconscious. Okay?"

"'Kay." He slurred in response.

Washington took the already bloodied coat on the floor and placed it over the cut. Hamilton hissed as the President used both hands to squeeze the small wrist.

"Keep talking."

"Wuh-?"

"Come now Alexander, it is common that I cannot keep you from speaking. Humour me."

There was silence for several long moments. Washington feared that the young man had slipped off. He was about to let go and fetch the doctor when Hamilton spoke.

"My cousin committed suicide."

It was unexpected, and quite honestly, unnerving, but Washington didn't comment.

"I was thirteen." The words were coming out slowly, almost as if he were drunk. "Walked in on his body hanging from the ceiling."

Washingtons stopped the excessive pressing, but his hands never left the cut area. "I'm sorry, Alexander." He said compassionately.

The man let out a small laugh, "No need to be. Was a long time ago. My brother left after that. Said I was bad luck."

"Well, that's simply not true." The bleeding had slowed to a reasonable amount. The cut would still need stitches. It only took him a moment to find a small sewing kit in one of the bottom drawers of the desk. "Alexander," the boy had gone quiet again.

"I'm jus' thinkin'."

George smiled fondly, threading the needle. He may not have been a doctor, but he was a general in the army. He knew how to sew up a man. "That can be dangerous, especially for you."

Hamilton offered a grunt of agreement. "Y'know my brother was right."

"What?" Washington couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice. Recollecting himself, he thrust the needly into Alexander's wrist. The boy gave a sharp cry of pain before relaxing back in the chair with heavy breaths.

"About me being bad luck." He continued, seeming more alert thanks to the sudden pain.

Washington observed Alexander carefully. The boy's eyes had fallen closed, though it was obvious he was still awake. His mouth was pinched tight with pain. A paleness had set in due to the blood loss. "What makes you think you're bad luck?" He yanked tightly on the string, pulling the broken skin together.

A small hiss. "Seems nothing I do ever works out," A short gasp. "quite right. Everyone I get close to seems to, to either, leave or, or die." His breathing was becoming laboured in pain. Washington didn't stop. "Even this, this debt plan won't seem to, to, to work!" The last word came out in a shout as the stitches were tied off.

The President watched quietly as Hamilton regained his breath. Now that the wound wasn't pouring out blood, it was easy for him to see that this was not the first intentional incision.

"Is that why you used this." He picked up the knife with disgust.

Hamilton cracked his eyes open, letting out a deep sigh. "It... Helps." He muttered concomitantly, "With the stress."

"I think you need a break, son."

At this the Secretaries eyes flung open. "No, sir! I'm fine! Really! I just-"

"You need a break, Alexander. Go meet your family upstate for a couple of weeks."

"But sir," he continued to protest, "I don't have time. I'm trying to get this debt plan through and-"

"Alexander."

Hamilton cut off his rant, "Yes, sir?"

"If you want this incident kept between us, you'll take a vacation. I can manage a few weeks without you. Understood."

The young Secretary of Treasury opened his mouth as if to argue, but stopped short. It would be nice to see his family. "Yes, sir."

"Good." Washington smiled, rising. "You're no good to me dead." The phrase was said flippantly, but the meaning shown through.

Alexander Hamilton wasn't bad luck. He worth something and he was going to prove it.

**~TH~**

**I hope you enjoyed this! I am really enjoying these Hamilton stories! I hope you are too 3**

**If you have any ideas, you are welcome to send them in! I'm not going to promise anything right now because I have soooo many ideas! Regardless I would love to hear what you have to say!**

**Stay tuned for more!**

**God bless,  
Jamie**


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